


Shadows

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: Secrets of the Red Room [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, What Happened in Budapest, another take on the back story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4817591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every team begins somewhere. This is the start of Strike Team Delta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows

Leviathan had been one of the shadowy organizations that rose to prominence in Europe in the 1940's. Natasha's mother had been scornful of the organization, stating they were a pale shadow of what their home had been. But the pale shadow had still been dangerous, still produced skilled and deadly graduates. There were notes in the SSR and early days of SHIELD about Leviathan and their female agents, these chameleons with murder on their mind.

Natasha wasn't given this information. She was given the bare facts of a clandestine organization in Austria operating under the name Leviathan. Their purpose was unknown; no one at SHIELD believed it was actually related to the 1940's version of the organization. They felt it was a homage of sorts, and they had come after Natasha and SHIELD when rumors circulated of her handing over secrets of vital importance. It was an easy way to get rid of a dangerous freelancer, and the Winter Soldier had gone silent years before.

Of course, their operatives had been utter morons, and killed the wrong woman.

Sitting in a hotel room with Clint in Austria felt strange. She hadn't been there in a while, and the entire tenor of the city seemed wrong somehow. It was a creeping feeling along her spine, her instinct to run almost overpowering. "We should go," she said tersely, eyes flicking toward the windows, unease in her posture.

"You think it's a setup?"

"They tried to kill me and failed. Their men were stupid. I don't trust the intel. Not that Coulson would have wanted me dead," she added hastily, holding up a hand to forestall his protests, "but that he would have been fed something wrong."

Clint mulled over the words. "Possible. Plans are only as good as the intel, and I know we probably are being taken for a ride."

"Next step?"

He pursed his lips and contemplated her. "You tell me. You know half of the Eastern European underground. I don't even pretend to know the difference between mob groups or whatever," he said with a wave. "You're the one with the web of contacts. I'm the guy with the bow."

She remembered feeling pinned in place when arrows had come. "Don't discount your skill."

Now Clint grinned. "Oh, trust me, Natasha, I don't."

"Coulson wanted you on lead."

"We're a team, Tasha. I don't know this area well. So you tell me."

It was good to be in command of this op, to have Clint's utter trust. That was as heady as getting a mission complete, as it was seeing the gummy smiles of the babies in the arcades—

No, best not to think of that one. That way led to tears, self-recrimination and the desperate, hollow feeling that she wasn't worth the lives they paid.

Instead, she wracked her brain to think of where to go and what to do. She thought best when the edge of fear sharpened her thinking, adrenaline bringing everything into focus. _Focus._

She grinned, a feral and frightening thing when she thought of where to go. "Someone owes me," she drawled, leaning back. "And it's a someone I don't particularly care for."

Clint snorted. "Makes me glad I'm in your good books. When do we start?"

Natasha's grin sharpened. "How about now?"

***

This time in Budapest, Natasha and Clint were partners instead of sitting at odds with each other. He followed her through a warren of alleys and basements until she was face to face with a Russian expat that was part of a rather convoluted network of spies and informants. Some of them were involved with the former Red Room, some had ties to Leviathan.

This man knew them all.

Boris Ivanovich prided himself on his network of spices in Eastern bloc nations separate from Vory families and the old KGB agencies. Some overlap couldn't be helped, but his network consisted of the lowlifes that most agencies ignored. Seamstresses and wait staff, porters and garbage men, delivery boys and the cleaning ladies that no one paid any attention to made up his network. They brought back their pieces of information, and Boris pieced it all together. For his efforts, he demanded a rather exorbitant price.

Right now, however, Natasha was renegotiating the price at knifepoint.

Clint was trying very hard not to be alarmed and impressed by her tactics. She had moved through the city's shadows, eyes alert for sight lines and security cameras, slithering from one pool of darkness to another. Not one camera picked her up, and in areas she couldn't avoid them, they only caught the side of her face or the back of her head. He felt like a bumbling amateur in comparison, and had to remind himself that she had been trained in this kind of movement from birth. If she was ever ungraceful, it was deliberate and part of a cover identity.

She had slipped into an illegal club, beating the doorman into unconsciousness inside of a minute and not even breaking a sweat. Clint felt superfluous until they came to Boris' office; at that point, his ability to rapid fire arrows and shoot multiple shots at once came in handy. Boris' four guards were pinned in place, snarling at them ineffectually. Natasha stalked forward, deadly grace and innocent smiles until she was at Boris' side. He called her Natalia, and was missing an eyetooth when he tried to smile at her. Nonsensical words spilled from his lips once he saw her knife, though he clammed up as soon as the blade touched his skin.

"We bargain for your life. And the lives of your men," she said, expression completely and eerily blank, as if it didn't matter if they all lived or died. Maybe it didn't, Clint didn't know.

"You can't think you'll walk away from this," Boris sneered.

Without any change in expression, she lifted the knife and slammed it down into his right shoulder, twisting it as he screamed. "Will you?"

Clint had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from saying or doing anything to undermine her in front of Boris or his men. This was her show, and he trusted her to get the ultimate job done, even if he might not particularly enjoy her methods. It was also a grand opportunity to see how the Black Widow did her job.

"You think your man there will let you kill me?"

"I'm just the hired help," Clint said, shrugging in an indifferent manner. When one of the guards started to move, he let loose another arrow. It pinned his arm in place, grazing his skin. The guard snarled at him, but Clint grinned in a facetious manner. "Oops."

Boris yelped as Natasha leaned into the knife. "You can't kill me! I have powerful friends!"

"How can they help you when you're already dead?" Natasha asked in a bored tone.

"I know people. I know many people. I can help you!" Boris insisted.

"Really? Just a moment before, you knew nothing."

"We cannot open bargaining with everything, you know that. This is my business. My work is impeccable, else you would not be here."

"There is Gregor."

"Gregor? Bah. That idiot still thinks the Vory will protect him from the others. He knows nothing important, nothing vital."

"It's not the tale he tells," Natasha replied evenly.

"You trust Gregor over me?" Boris asked incredulously. "The damned fool should have taken Leviathan's job, not pissed it all away on women and wine. He's lucky if he can see straight in a year." His mouth twisted in disgust. "He wastes opportunities."

"So you took the job."

"Of course I did," Boris scoffed. "I am no fool."

"Of course not."

"Which is why you're here," Boris said, grinning wide. "So you see, you can't kill me now."

"I never said anything about killing you _now."_

"You said you wanted to bargain for my life," Boris said, appearing confused.

"Yes, I did. Leviathan will be very interested to know who you're talking about their jobs to."

Boris immediately paled and went absolutely still, not even breathing. "But you know nothing. They won't hire you. They don't trust any Department X staff that survived. They all got absorbed into other organizations. Leviathan is content to wait. Their sleeper agents, the codes, the triggers... No, they don't trust you. They won't hire you."

Natasha smiled now, slow and sinister. Clint saw one of the guard's eyes flick from Boris to Natasha – oh, the utter irony of that name combination just occurred to him – and toward a file cabinet on the back wall. Interesting.

"But if they don't trust you, they won't hire you either. The information dries up. You'll be lost without it." Her smile was creepy and chilling. "So you see, we bargain for your life. Do you think they will keep you alive if you are worthless to them?"

"I did the job! I did everything they asked of me!" Boris spat, desperation in his tone. "I still carry worth. My network is good!"

"Of course it is. So they'll take it."

"No. Yuri is loyal. Oksana will never roll over to them, not when she hasn't even seen the General in person. She knows better."

"Oh, Boris. Do you really think they will give her an option?"

He looked almost sick. "They're done with the brainwashing. I've investigated. The machines are all gone. They're broken down."

"Can you imagine little Oksana in their hands, Boris?" she said in a lilting tone. "Can you imagine the things they do to pretty girls?"

Boris made a choking noise. "She is safe. I know she is."

"How safe is she if I know about her? I'm sure I'm not the only one." Natasha backed off and let Boris sit up on his desk.

"You would not turn her over," Boris said, sounding sure of himself. But his hands shook as he removed her knife. "I should kill you for this."

"I had to get your attention somehow."

He looked at her with a critical eye. "No, you would not harm Oksana."

"But they would."

Without looking at her, he nodded and handed over the knife. "But they would."

"Where are they, Boris?"

"You don't care about the job?"

"You told me all about it already."

He froze and stared at her. "No, I didn't. I gave you nothing."

"Of course you did, Boris. You're quite chatty."

"No. I didn't tell you anything. You know nothing. You're bluffing."

"Am I?"

They stared at each other for a long moment, and finally Boris looked away. "You don't know Henri. I am still safe."

"Do you really think Henri will believe that?"

"I took the job, I finished it. The money is rightfully mine, the bastard promised me."

"How long ago did you finish it?"

"Last week. A target in the States, a sick ward. Two shadow agents. It was easy."

Clint felt a chill run down his spine, and he looked at Boris critically. "No way," he breathed.

Natasha hadn't even seemed to react to the allusion, but Boris bristled. "You doubt me, hireling? No target can survive an explosion like that. Henri Melusa makes the best bombs. Leviathan knew what they were doing when they took him on. You'll see. If you're worth anything, they'll approach you, add you to the collective. They only take the ones with worth."

"So that was your job? Kill a target? Did you even know who it was?" Clint asked in a scoffing manner. Another guard twitched in the corner of his vision. Another arrow, fired without looking, stopped him from trying again.

"Impressive. They might want to hire you," Boris said, looking almost like a proud papa. "You don't look like a Soviet reject. I can refer you, if you like. I have the connections."

"Reject?" Natasha asked, putting her knife against his throat.

"What? The FSB didn't like their covert ops, they burned it down. Everyone knows you must have worked for the FSB. Everyone knows."

"And this collective? How many in it?" Natasha asked. "Surely you know."

Boris seemed to finally realize he walked into a trap, and clicked his mouth shut. Natasha ran the edge of the blade over his throat, a shallow cut that barely bled but made him nervous. "They will kill me if you don't."

"So you're dead either way."

"I told you I would help you! You're the Black Widow! You need jobs, you need information. You need me."

"No, I don't. There's Gregor."

"He is nothing. He knows nothing. He thought Henri was worthless, told him he'd rather work for Bakshi. They are nothing."

"I think this dude's files are more interesting than he is," Clint remarked in a bored tone.

"Go get the files," Natasha intoned, nodding toward the cabinet.

"Those are for the club!"

Clint ignored him and let Natasha start whispering threateningly in Russian. He skimmed over the financial data of the legitimate aspects of the club, but then started noting odd orders and payments that seemed unnaturally large. "Gotcha," he murmured. From there, it was easy for him to sort through the different piles of things. Especially since there seemed to be no attempt whatsoever to hide names. One "vendor" was Henri Melusa, and that had started in the past month. There wasn't anything about a Bakshi, but a few other names seemed to come up a lot. "I think I found some names to work with," he called up, raising his head to look at Natasha. Boris looked terrified, but there were no further cuts on his face. "Hey," he said awkwardly, not sure what he should call her in this instance.

When Natasha looked up, she had a flat expression. "Henri also does human trafficking. Isn't that interesting? Good thing he doesn't know about Yuri and Oksana."

Boris started to say something in Russian, but she silenced him with a glare. "Thanks for your help, Boris," she said sarcastically, heading for the door.

Clint followed, touching her arm. She turned, eyes blazing. "I need my arrows."

"Take them. And if they move, kill them."

***

Clint waited until they were in the safe house that Natasha had arranged. But before he could even ask her what she was doing, she leaned against the wall and started shaking. He bit back his instinctual "What the hell?" and went to her side. "Natasha."

"Henri Melusa is a bomb maker and trafficker. Now I know why he's so well protected. He works for Leviathan as well as the organizations in Hungary and the Balkans." She pounded her fist on the wall in frustration. "The bastard only cares about money. He'd sell his own mother if she was still alive."

"What the hell is going on?" Clint asked, glad that she seemed human again. Distant, but human.

"I'm not a fan of people selling little girls."

Her voice was tight, and he knew that the organization she'd worked for had done similar things with the girls she considered sisters. He had once thought she was far too flippant about how they had prostituted her, but now realized his mistake. She hadn't shown anger because she couldn't. It wasn't that she didn't trust _him,_ but he had still been in SHIELD, and she didn't know if she could trust the rest of them. She couldn't release the tight hold she kept over herself, couldn't allow them to see weakness.

She trusted him that much; Clint vowed there and then not to abuse it. It had cost her to come in with him, to tie herself to an organization that easily would have killed her otherwise. If she had really wanted to, she could have continued surviving on her own, dodging them for years before someone got lucky enough to get a bullet in her.

"Hey. We take him down. It was him and Leviathan that wanted you dead and led to—"

Natasha looked up, her expression one of raw misery. "I know. I know. I could never get to him alone. I found out..." She cleared her throat and looked away. "There were some that made it out when they tried to escape. But they never lasted long. They were usually caught and used for target practice by other departments. Or worse."

Worse. Clint didn't even want to imagine it.

"He wasn't personally involved, but he worked with them. Sold the girls into the Red Room, got 'special benefits' with one of the Helenas." Her mouth twisted as if she tasted something sour. "I couldn't get to him before. I don't know if he knows I'm the Natalia."

"But odds are good."

She looked back at him. "But odds are good, as you say. There is no longer a Red Room. The Black Widow suddenly rises in its wake. Rumors of my selling secrets to SHIELD."

"Boris seems to think Leviathan is the threat."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he wishes to head Leviathan."

Clint blew out a breath. "So now what?"

"Flush him out and kill them all."

They did so, and it was brutal and terrible and horrible. But it was also necessary, and she learned the kind of man Clint could be, and the kind of woman that she could be.

And she liked them. They were worth the pain of being, the complications that attachments could become. He was worth the trust and honesty she had given him.

Budapest was where she learned what truth was.

***

Natasha was confused by the empty room, though no one would know it to look at her facial expression. She was as stoic as ever, and her eyes swept across the room again. It had been where she had been staying until she and Clint left for Europe, and the closest thing to home in years. Everything she had, the few items she even possessed, were _gone._

Losing Whitney Tseng's doll hurt worst of all. Clothes could be replaced, but not the doll.

"Miss Romanova," came the Director's voice from down the hall. He walked at a leisurely pace, a long trench coat on despite the fact that he likely had been in the complex all day. "I got the report that you and Agent Barton returned."

She didn't dignify that with a reply and only nodded. Even the sheets were gone from the bed, which was irritating, but the mattress was comfortable enough. She would sleep on a bare mattress if she had to. She had slept on floors and rooftops and empty alleyways. A bed was still a luxury in comparison.

"I see no one told you about the change in where your quarters are located," he continued. "I thought as much when you didn't show up."

Though she was surprised, she didn't respond to that outwardly. That would give him power over her, and advantage she wouldn't let him have. She was already in his debt, in Coulson's, in Clint's. That irritated her, but she would find a way to pay them back, to give them no reason to regret letting her live.

Director Fury accompanied her to a completely different area of the complex SHIELD was housing her in. These rooms and hallways seemed more personable, and she guessed that accommodations were larger. "I put you across the hall from Barton. I figured it would be a little more comfortable that way."

Why was he being nice to her? He didn't trust her and she had given him no reason to.

And then he opened the door to her room, making her breath catch in her throat.

On top of the full sized bed was the blonde doll in the blue dress. The sheets and comforter were average issue, but there was also a desk and chair, with a pad of paper and a cup with pens in it on top of a manila folder. There was also a small radio with a CD player in it and a stack of CD's on top of the desk. A shelf above the desk had several books that looked to be Russian literature and poetry. To the left side of the room was a pair of slatted doors that pulled outward on a track, likely the closet. Beyond that was a door that would likely lead to the bathroom, and Natasha guessed that it would be less formal and Spartan than her prior one had been. The window didn't open, but there was a view out over a courtyard, and she could see several other buildings and the hint of a park beyond.

"We're in Morningside Heights," Fury told her. "A few agents decided to gift you with some stuff, but they didn't know what you'd like," he said with a nod to the desk.

"Why?" she asked, glad her suspicion didn't show.

"Look in the folder," he replied.

Moving swiftly but cautiously in case this was a trap, Natasha removed the folder and opened it. She immediately recognized the handwriting on some sheets as belonging to Dr. Tseng, and there were also typewritten notes as well. A brief scan told her that these were the doctor's process notes from their therapy sessions.

Natasha looked up sharply, tension in her frame. "What is this?"

"I read them," Fury admitted in an even, bland tone of voice. "And she'd always insisted that you were honest with her."

"As honest as she was with me," Natasha replied tightly.

"You and I both know the woman couldn't lie worth a damn. She tried, I'll give her that much, and I let her save face. Save it for both us, where you were concerned."

Natasha resisted the urge to clutch Dr. Tseng's notes to her chest. "Why are you giving me these, then?" she asked, voice as bland as she could make it.

"Those don't belong to SHIELD."

Now she clutched them to her chest. "So who do they belong to?"

"You. They're part of your story, aren't they?" Fury asked, not perturbed in the slightest. "I think I understand why she was so protective. Why she didn't want you leaving. I can read between the lines very well, Miss Romanova. I think I understand a little of what you went through in order to leave them behind."

"You couldn't possibly," she hissed.

He glowered at her. "I didn't make it to Director sitting behind a desk. I know what it's like to lose people. I know how to make the tough calls. And I also know how important it is to have one person in the right place at the right time. And to trust instinct."

"And that says what?"

"That we give you a place, people to call family... There are ways to use your skills that don't involve destabilizing the world."

"Kill who you choose, is that it?" she asked coldly.

"It doesn't mean kill. Most of the time we contain the threats. Recruit the ones we can."

"And you would have easily put a bullet between my eyes," she replied.

"Wouldn't you?"

Yes, she would have if she was in his position.

Fury nodded at her and started to turn to leave. "Wait. Why did you move me here?" she asked, frowning at him. He didn't trust her, clearly.

"Because you trusted Dr. Tseng. You trust Clint Barton. I trust their judgment. And I think we can help each other out. You go straight, and we can stop the kinds of people that think torturing kids is a good plan."

"I already took care of that," Natasha replied, lifting her chin a notch.

"They're hardly the only ones out there," Fury replied.

Worse, he was absolutely right.

Natasha looked at all the recruitment paperwork that Coulson brought to her later. She had read through Dr. Tseng's notes, the doll clutched in her arms. She thought of the other girls in the arcades, the brutal justice served, the training, the lack of mercy or simple kindness outside of what the bloodlines gave each other. She thought of the sacrifices involved to keep her alive, to bring her to this point.

She could do this. She could go straight, live the life that Natalia and Alian wanted for her.

In honor of this country, she signed everything as Natasha Romanoff.

Coulson gave her a genuine smile, startling her. "Welcome to SHIELD, Agent Romanoff."

The End


End file.
